


The Mount Massive Bandits

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [35]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bandit Eddie, Blood and Violence, Guns, M/M, One Shot, Ranch hand Waylon, Shooting, alternate universe - cowboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:34:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13110864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Waylon is a ranch-hand doing  yet another cattle drive in three years for a family friend. Everything is going smooth as usual until they near their destination. An easy drive with easy money quickly becomes a nightmare all within a single night when Bandits set their sights on their haul.





	The Mount Massive Bandits

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure where I'm going with this. It was a spur of the moment idea i might revisit later on down the road and continue. I just really wanted to do a Western scene and this is how it played out.

The nights were long and frightfully cold. The first of the morning frost had already settled across the earth, inciting a chill that couldn’t be rivaled. The dust was immobile, undisturbed through the night, not even by the coyotes. The last lingering shreds of darkness was slowly burned away as the sun rose up over the mountain peaks. The rocky tips already painted white with Winter’s nearing breath. The cold embrace was soon to come and the last of the herds were to be lined up to the nearest trains before the tracks became impassable for the rest of the year. The ranchers were rushing to get their haul in before that deadline, hiring farm hands frantically, strong strapping men that could do the work and handle a horse and a gun at the same time. They gave little question towards the boys’ alliances and worried only about punctuality and hard work. They were two weeks into the cattle drive, it was short as far as distance goes but herding a couple hundred live animals in one formal direction was agonizingly slow work that kept the farm hands on their toes. Eyes scanning between the mountain sides and hills then back to the herds. Searching for any anomalies that shouldn’t be present.

 

Waylon Park was one of the few farm hands who had run these herds and this drive for three years straight. The rancher in charge was an old family friend that paid well and treated all of his men with immense respect. It was an easy enough job and they never really had much trouble aside from a pack of coyotes the year before coming in after a few of the younger cows that strayed a little too far out. Then the first year, one of the horses got bit by a rattler. That was a sad way to go and Waylon was the one to have to put it down. This year, he was running with two newbies that were simply new to the group, not so much running horseback or the work. They appeared to be a little bit older than Waylon and often kept their distance when they settled in to camp for the night. The rancher in charge usually cooked so he stuck by his side and often helped with the chuck wagon in the mornings and evenings.

 

They pushed on through the scorching sun for two more days. Reaching the edge of the mountains and nearing the town they intended to deliver the cattle to. The railroad ran right through it for pick up and deliveries. There was even a stock yard to hold the cattle in the meantime. They set up camp for the night, letting the livestock graze to their heart’s content, Waylon decided to get some rest before he takes up his turn on guard duty for the night. Skipping his meal in the meantime but a little something was left off to the side for him to eat when his turn came around later on so he didn’t have to go hungry until morning. He was excited about this drive reaching its end since this was going to be his last year and he’d have enough money collected to travel out east, aiming to explore the big cities and possibly develop some skills that served better than horse wrangling and spotting coyotes and rattlers. He was entirely bored with this life and wanted a little bit of excitement. Something a little new instead of the same old same old and he heard he could find that back east in the big cities.

 

The night wore on and Waylon dozed for several hours before he started to stir. His pale blue eyes opening as he rolled over on his bed roll, having expected to be woken up for his turn by now. He gave the stars above a long glance, admiring the clear skies but cursing it for the chill it brought with it. He turned his head to see the fire had already died out which was unusual. His eyes roamed around the camp to find the rancher was curled up on his own bed roll, motionless. The other two farm hands were nowhere to be seen either. The cattle was undisturbed and there were no lights to show anyone was on look out. No additional fires around. With a twisting sick feeling in his stomach, he pushed himself up slowly, grabbing his gun to fix around his belt and taking up his rifle which rested nearby with his hat. He fixed it upon the unruly locks of blonde atop his head and crouched over to the rancher. Giving his shoulder a curt shake, he didn't budge. In fact, his whole body was cold and rigid in places.

 

Waylon gave another firm shake before pulling him over to find a glossy look in his eyes. They were wide open and his face was blue. A foam had formed on the corners of his lips and Waylon knew something was wrong. He looked like he had choked or suffocated in someway. Fear jolted him to his feet as he nearly stumbled back, looking around quickly as he held his rifle to his chest, fingers at the ready near the trigger, he started to scour camp. Just past the chuck wagon was a bunch of bushes the other boys had been using to relieve themselves at, it was protected by rocky outcroppings, the red hue of the sun warmed stone emantated the only warmth in the chilled night air. His boots crunching on dried twigs and scuffing up the frosted earth. He spotted a hunched over figure near the bushes, almost as if they had collapsed. As he neared, he noticed it was one of the other boys, the ones that keep to themselves. He spotted a couple more scattered throughout the area, one cattle hand after another was curled up, blue in the face and eyes bulging. Deceased and foaming at the mouth. Nothing was making sense. It all felt like some crazed nightmare to be honest and Waylon was desperate to find anyone left alive.

 

As he continued his search, he spotted the small flickering of a flame in the distance. It was on the other side of the cattle grounds where one of the lookouts was posted to keep an eye out for coyotes or cattle thieves. In a frantic attempt to find any living soul left amongst them, he rushed over, letting his guard down. There was a man sitting by the fire, rifle in hand as he listened to the calming night sounds. The occasionally croon of a cow an the scuffing of feet in the dirt. The cool breeze ghosting by. He whistled softly as if having not a single care in the world. “Oh thank god. I’m not the only one.” Waylon breathed quickly, recognizing the man as one of the newbies. There was about a dozen in all but these ones stood out most to him due to the way they distanced themselves. Only this guy was the only one left from that group. He turned to look at Waylon, startled as if he wasn’t expecting him. He raised his rifle and aimed at the blonde, causing Waylon to stand back and hold a hand up away from the trigger. “Whoa, relax. It’s just me. You’ve no idea how relieved I am to see you. The others, something’s wrong. They’re all dead.”

 

“Yeah, something’s wrong alright.” The man growled, aiming his rifle at Waylon in displeasure. “You’re not.”

 

“What do you mean?” Waylon paused, pale blue orbs glancing between the raised rifle and back up at the man behind it. “What did you do?” There was a slow pause between them before the man pulled back the hammer on his rifle. Waylon swallowed thickly, staring back down the barrel and anticipating the burst of gunpowder and lead tearing through him. He held his breath, watching as time seemed to slow as the man moved to pull the trigger. There was a burst of smoke and the explosion of a firearm. Waylon held still for a minute or so more before daring to look, not realizing when he had closed his eyes, his body flinching back from the man when he saw the body drop to the ground with a thud.

 

“Can’t you imbeciles follow a simple set of directions? I said not to leave a single one alive!” The voice that rose came from a few feet away off to the side and out of Waylon’s peripheral. As he turned his head to follow the source, the smooth honey tone sighed and turned a pair of striking blue eyes onto the lithe blonde male. “What have we here?” Waylon flinched at the sound, like a predator that suddenly found something tasty in its sights. “Well, I guess I can forgive you all this once. Seems the best was saved for last.” The man speaking was incredibly tall, even as far as Waylon’s standards. He thought himself to be pretty tall, pushing 6’2 now. But this man made him feel small, not just in height but he was broad shouldered with obvious muscle tone showing through the taut button up.

 

The dark vest layered over a white long sleeve that made him seem more akin to a bank clerk then a cowboy but the dark black duster hung down to the ground and the hat shrouded much of his traits. A cloth was tied around his neck and rose up to cover his face, leaving just the pair of eyes staring him down. His revolver slipped easily back into his holsters beneath the duster. Even his hands were covered in fingerless gloves. Not much skin showing but Waylon didn’t linger on that long. He was too scared out of his wits to do much. He was delayed before he raised his rifle at the man in a desperate attempt to fight back but a hand gripped the end of the barrel and pushed it aside, stepping closer as he yanked it from Waylon’s grasp. “Aren’t you a little young to be playing with guns, boy?” the man’s honeyed voice held a sharper tone to it, irritated at his pitiful attempts as he closed the distance between them. Causing Waylon to step back quickly, stumbling over the traitor’s bed roll and falling back onto his ass. The man grabbed him up by the collar of his jacket and dragged him back up to his feet, tossing his rifle aside to another companion who sat on horseback. When did the horses approach? He was confused by all of this, especially when the man dusting him off and corrected his clothing like he was some fitful child making a fuss before church.

 

“Wha? Who are you?” He finally spoke up, regaining a bit of his courage only for it to fizzle out soon after another foreboding gaze was shot his way, making him weak in the knees. This easy cattle drive had quickly turned into his worst nightmare. A myriad of stories rushed forward where bandits and rogues catch cattle hands and string up by horseback and watch them hang or drag until they die. He didn’t want to become another corpse in the desert, all dried up and feeding the buzzards.

 

“Well, we’ve many names but the people have come to be rather fond of calling us The Mount Massive Bandits.” The man spoke, his words hinted at a wry smile dangling on the end of his sentences. Waylon felt a dizziness rush up on him at that revelation. Bank robbers, murderers, adulterers and raiders. These men were the worst of the worst. The scum of the west. Even going as far as to hold up trains and steal from the good folk riding on them. “I’m-”

 

“Eddie Gluskin..” Waylon breathed, knowing well the reputation of their leader. He had a sick sense of humor and has left several men castrated in his wake. Not exactly a reputation many would desire but it was enough to make a man fear for his own manhood. Waylon felt sick, his sun kissed hues were more of a ghastly pale as he fought of the faint feeling rising up in him. He swayed in place, seeing the amusement in the man’s eyes turned to idle curiosity.

 

“Don’t pass out on me there, come on.” Eddie spoke with a chuckle, slapping at Waylon’s cheeks to keep him lucid. A few of the other companions let loose their own bits of laughter, each dressed in dark brown dusters and had their own masks pulled up to cover their identities. A cluster of eyes all staring Waylon down like coyotes eyeing a fresh carcass. He could almost see them salivating over the opportunities laid before them. Rather it was for Waylon or the couple hundred head of cattle behind him. Eddie reached behind him and snapped his fingers at the nearest companion, holding his hand out as a canteen was dropped into his hand. He opened it, giving it a quick glance to see how much was left before holding it up to the blondes lips. “Drink.” He ordered. “Do it before I change my mind.”

 

Waylon accepted the canteen, raising his hand to take a sip but Eddie swatted it away with a sharp smack that had the blonde confused. Eddie tilted the canteen for him, permitting measured sips so he doesn’t go overboard. When he was certain Waylon had enough, he pulled it back and capped it, tossing it back at the companion behind him. “Now then. Let's get down to business.” He placed a hand on the back of Waylon’s neck and turned to face his posse. Giving them each a steady gaze before applying a firm squeeze to the blonde’s neck as if trying to prove a point. “Alright boys. We got a contact on the cattle in the next town over. Aside from that, take whatever the fuck you want. This one is mine though.” He pulled Waylon up close to his side, holding him firmly there and not at all reassuring in any way. He feared the heavy weight those words held with them. A sudden burst of barks and howls exploded from the posse like a pack of coyotes riled up for a kill before they dismounted and started raiding the camp for valuables. Even going as far as to search the bodies for what was left. The traitor included.


End file.
